What Ability Did You Just Use Again?

Unlike his previous ethereal stride over the sea to the island, Dracule Mihawk now found himself struggling with a mere ten-meter gap.

He was clearly running at full speed, but… it had already been over ten seconds—and he still hadn't reached Roya.

And Roya?

He just stood there.

Calm. Still. Unbothered.

He even looked a little… bored.

This odd standoff left many of the pirates behind completely confused.

Fortunately, among them were seasoned warriors who understood what was happening.

Marco suddenly jolted in realization and exclaimed:

"I get it now!"

"It only looks like Mihawk is charging in fast—he's actually probing Roya's defenses!"

Vista immediately cut in:

"It's not just probing—he's already clashing with Roya…"

"In his mind!"

"What?! A battle of the mind?!"

The pirates around them gasped in shock. But no one questioned it—Vista, being one of the greatest swordsmen present, couldn't be wrong.

And it was true.

Mihawk wasn't just stalling—he was battling something far more terrifying than Roya's sword: his own mind.

When he tried to draw close with the Black Blade in hand, he was hit with a paralyzing realization—he couldn't swing.

Every time he picked a target or a perfect moment to strike, his mind would instinctively simulate the outcome.

This wasn't hesitation. It was a result of decades of honed sword intuition—the same instincts that had earned him the title of World's Strongest Swordsman.

But this time, his greatest strength became his greatest burden.

Every scenario he envisioned ended the same way:

Roya countering effortlessly.

Roya killing him in one strike.

Over. And over. And over.

Within a single minute—Mihawk had "died" to Roya tens of thousands of times.

All in his mind.

His subconscious had already determined the battle's outcome before he could even act.

No slash could land. No move could save him.

For the first time in his life, Mihawk felt something new: utter despair.

Desperate to make sense of it, his mind spun for any explanation—some reason that would let him stand again.

Then, in a flash of clarity, Mihawk abruptly leapt back and shouted:

"Your Observation Haki… it's reached an unimaginable level!"

"Even with everything I have, I cannot break through it!"

"But… even so, I can't accept this!"

"If I cannot see your true swordsmanship—I'd rather die with my blade drawn!"

"Please—abandon your Observation Haki. I will forsake all Haki as well."

"Let us settle this… as swordsmen."

The crowd of pirates exploded with boos and jeers.

"What kind of 'World's Greatest Swordsman' pulls this crap?!"

"Why not throw away your sword and challenge Roya to an Observation Haki duel then?!"

"Oh, I get it now—he only keeps his title because no one else gets to fight fair!"

"He can win, but he's not allowed to lose, huh?!"

Even Boa Hancock blinked in disbelief:

"This… is the Mihawk everyone respects?"

"He didn't seem so shameless before."

Whitebeard laughed heartily.

"Win for long enough, and you start to believe you're invincible."

"Losing becomes unbearable."

Hancock narrowed her eyes mischievously:

"What about Roya, then? Will he become like that someday?"

Whitebeard roared with laughter.

"Roya? Nah! He's not afraid of losing…"

"Because he can't lose!"

"You don't believe me? Why don't you go test him yourself?"

Back on the beach, Roya cleared his throat—instantly silencing the heckling crowd.

He looked at Mihawk and said plainly:

"Since you're willing to throw away even your dignity—fine, I'll grant your request."

With that, he nudged the sand with his foot—and flicked up a dry twig, catching it casually.

He pointed the twig at Mihawk and added with a faint smile:

"I was going to condense a sword from sand using Observation Haki, but that might've hurt your pride."

"So this branch will do just fine."

From behind, Squard added mercilessly:

"Did you notice he said 'again'? Might wanna think about what that means, World's Strongest Swordsman."

Everyone else chimed in gleefully:

"Because Roya didn't even use Observation Haki against you earlier, dumbass!"

"You're the one who panicked all on your own!"

With a cracking sound, Mihawk's eye twitched violently—he was literally bursting a blood vessel in rage.

Without warning, he slashed forward—Black Blade Yoru angled to cleave straight through Roya's shoulder and neck.

But the moment the blade left his hand, Mihawk felt it.

His sword instinct screamed at him again:

Death. Defeat. Humiliation.

His mind once again replayed the image of Roya killing him—with a twig.

And then—Roya moved.

The twig in his hand slashed forward, matching Mihawk's angle and trajectory exactly.

But somehow—it landed first.

Post-strike before pre-strike.

Mihawk's heart dropped.

Frantically, he pulled Yoru back to block.

But Roya's twig retreated at the exact same time, matching him again—identically—but faster.

"What is this?!"

"That twig doesn't even have the shape or weight for proper slashing!"

"How is it copying my exact movement—but faster?!"

"This isn't even swordsmanship anymore—it breaks every law of the blade!"

"What the hell kind of ability is this?!"

Mihawk stumbled back—but this time, the twig's interference ruined his rhythm.

He tripped and fell backward—landing flat on his rear in the sand.

All the while, his face was filled not with pain—but pure, agonized confusion.

Roya, still holding the twig lazily, let out a light sigh:

"World's Strongest Swordsman…"

"I'm not using any special ability."

"I'm simply using your own sword techniques…"

"…and doing them better."

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